


D equals NxP2

by cognomen



Series: What's the Difference between Tony Stark and a Lawyer...? [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Golf, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/pseuds/cognomen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing that hot irons or wild horses or whatever couldn't drag out of him, it's that Tony Stark actually sort of enjoys golf. It's something that keeps him active and half occupied so he can multi-task while he does it. He's had some of his best ideas - admittedly a good portion of them golf related - on the golf course. There's not enough technology of course, and he could think of at least four hundred and fifty six ways the game could be better if it wasn't so old fashioned. Even if Tony won't admit it out loud, he believes it's good to unplug sometimes. Even for a couple hours. It was quiet, usually solitary, and normal enough behavior for someone as wealthy as he was, so no one really paid attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If there's one thing that hot irons or wild horses or whatever couldn't drag out of him, it's that Tony Stark actually sort of _enjoys_ golf. It's something that keeps him active and half occupied so he can multi-task while he does it. He's had some of his best ideas - admittedly a good portion of them golf related - on the golf course. There's not enough technology of course, and he could think of at least four hundred and fifty six ways the game could be better if it wasn't so old fashioned. Even if Tony won't admit it out loud, he believes it's good to unplug sometimes. Even for a couple hours. It was quiet, usually solitary, and normal enough behavior for someone as wealthy as he was, so no one really paid attention.

The problem was that today would be none of that. He could ride a big neon pink elephant onto the course and dictate his shots to a crack team of trained monkeys (Steve might get the reference), and it wouldn't be any more of a circus.

Tony usually lives for this. Having the spotlight is a useful tool and there's nothing the masses like more than a little showmanship in a good cause. What irritates him more than the invasion of what is usually one of his more private affairs (certainly more private than his sex life) is that he's expected to _share_. That he's just going to be one of a half-dozen faces, lumped in on whatever meaningless feelgood crap Rogers spouted when the government pulled his dual-action parachute-and-cliche-phrase ripcord and let him loose. 

Tony Stark feels like the donkey in the pony show, while everyone else is oblivious to the fact that Rogers is an even bigger ass. He's just been painted white (and red and blue). So while everyone gears up in the club house, talking away like they've all forgiven each other, Tony keeps his mouth shut and prepares to take the bit in his teeth before Fury or one of his lackeys starts using the whip.

He would have been fine, even with Bruce being the only one to notice his brewing storm, except that no one has really forgotten. Except Thor, who can't even be coaxed into wearing course dress code. Three pairs of eyes keep bridging the gap between Tony and Steve, wondering if anything is really mended.

And Steve is apparently in one of his damn _giving_ moods because as Tony pulls on his polo and yanks on his gloves, he crosses the distance with a big winning Steve Rogers grin on his face, oblivious to Tony's warning stare and Bruce's discomfort at the ratcheting tension. _Bruce_ at least knows Tony well enough to see the impending problem if Rogers pushes on this.

"Ready for the game, Tony?" Rogers asks, blinded by his own good intentions and his perception of himself as infallible. His faith in the world's basic goodness and the belief it still runs on some archaic set of good manners. Tony wants to smack the idiot out of him, and kick him until he's sure the lesson sticks. He wants to do it _now_ before the world does it for him. Rogers claps a hand in good comradeship on Tony's shoulder, and it's enough to shatter Tony's resolve to see this through without conflict. 

"I believe I owe you an apology," Steve says, all ideals and sincerity and homegrown goodness.

"Don't touch me," Tony answers sharply, jerking himself back from the contact. The truth of it is, no matter if Steve were right or wrong about Tony, no matter how badly the man had judged him without even extending any effort to know him ('I've watched the footage'), no matter if it was influenced by Loki's magical stick of mindfuckery, Rogers was right. And he was right because Tony had spent a lot of time _making_ him that way. He had summed Tony up in the words Tony did his best to put in everyone's dossier of him - but of all people, Steve _Fucking_ Rogers should have known better.

Rogers had stung him, and Tony had stung back and that _should_ be enough, but Tony won't give Rogers the satisfaction of being the bigger man just because Rogers expects that he's going to get to be. He can feel his expression transforming, even as he sees confusion coming over Roger's features. _Yeah that's right_ Captain America _\- just because you come up and pet my ego, you'll get what you fucking want._

Tony knows how much he looks like his father when he gets angry, and he hates it - except when it serves him to be that vindictive. He can feel Bruce's eyes on him, measuring what he sees here against all the things Tony's given him, and Tony _knows_ that he is going to suffer for this.

"Not this time, Rogers. You can go apologize to ten other guys and get the same _worth_ right? So why don't you go do that?" Tony can't forget those words. He'll see to it Rogers doesn't, either. 

"Tony," Rogers starts, lost and somewhere between anger and extreme repentance. Tony hits him while he's torn, while he's floundering for the best decision, and enjoys every second of it. 

"Now you listen, and you listen well. We have to work together? Fine. If the world's going down the crapper, I won't hesitate to take my orders from you. I'll even play nice for photos and feel goods. But what I _don't_ have to do is like you. _Keep_ your apologies, Captain Feelings."

And there it is. The divide in the team - with the line clearly in the sand between the two best qualified leaders. Tony knows how this is supposed to go - knows how Rogers is lining this team up functionally in his head with Tony as just another part of it. A part that might require a little finesse to keep in line, but a valuable and charismatic second in command that was worth the extra efforts to keep him as in love with Rogers as the rest of the world seemed to be. Rogers has never had a subordinate that did not love him, he's come to expect and rely on it. 

Tony is going to use that against him, even if it puts a strain on the team. Tony's pretty sure Banner's on his side, after all they've gone through, and maybe Thor if only by the loosest of connections, but the rest of the Avengers is bought and paid for by the U.S. government. It's a natural splinter, so Tony's not surprised when Romanov and Barton shift their attention warily in his direction and don't exactly look like they'll be rushing to his defense. 

Rogers doesn't look like he knows what just happened. Good. Tony grabs his golf bag, shoulders it, and puts on his biggest smile as he walks out to greet the press.   
-

Answering enough stupid questions actually puts Tony into a better mood. It's comforting, and it allows a more conductive channel for his irritation. He's expected to make educated and thoughtful statements on everything from his history with golf to the foundation he's supporting - but he notices, acutely, that they seem to be holding most of their 'left field' questions about the Avengers in check.

Who calculated that move, he's not sure. Could be Fury, trying to minimize danger to the image of a stable defense force. Could be the press itself, waiting to get them all as a roup and catch reactions and corrections in real-time. Too bad for them, Tony could play that game.

When Rogers emerges, composed, the press abandons him and Tony surrenders the spotlight to go loosen up. He's so irritated that his swings are going to be all over the place. Tony gets so into the focused aspect of driving, the ritual of it, that Bruce jumps him almost out of his shoes when he moves up behind Tony - dangerous when he's got a club in his hands - and gets a discreet handful of Tony's sports mesh polo at the small of his back. 

Tony doesn't shout, but he can't stop all his muscles from jerking and his hang going back instantly to remove the restraint. He drops his club in the middle of the motion.

"Sorry," Bruce says, and Tony realizes he's glaring through his sunglasses. He's not really that upset.

"Not your fault," Tony says, and re-composes himself, picking up his golf club. "You'd think with _two_ super-secret secret squirrels on my speed dial, I'd be a little more used to surprises."

'Boris and Natasha' seemed too easy. Bruce gets the reference, at least, glancing back toward the rest of the team. He looks - worried. Tony's probably given him a good reason. He doesn't insult either of their intelligences by admitting it.

Bruce isn't moving out of his personal space, either, and while Tony doesn't normally mind, at least in the specific case of Bruce, he can't swing with Bruce standing there.

"You gonna tell me I was too hard on Rogers or just keep throwing off my swing?" Tony prompts gently, when he sees that Bruce's attention is elsewhere. Worrying, maybe.

"What? No. I mean - what's between you and Steve, that's between you two. NO offense, but I'm not taking a side there," Bruce says, his attention coming back to Tony briefly.

"Pick up that seven-wood you're so fond of," Tony instructs Bruce, who does and takes up the lane next to him. "Loosen up a little. And tell me what's on your mind." 

Tony sets a ball on the rubber wedge, and is only momentarily distracted by how easy it would be to automate that process so that the ball was set _for_ you.

Bruce swings once or twice at open air, just to loosen, before he admits, "Tony, there's a lot of reporters here."

The statement almost hits Tony as nonsensical. His drive hooks sharply as he loses focus, but it doesn't irritate him. "Yeah," Tony fills the expectant silence. His words preceed Bruce's swing, and are bridged by the sound of his driver hitting the ball. It's a satisfying noise. "That's to be expected-"

"No." Bruce corrects him, and Tony already understands that he doesn't' mean 'no, he hadn't expected so many reporters' before Bruce qualifies, "Yes, I mean, but I'm not sure-" Bruce trails, sparing a nervous glance at all the cameras. 'It's a _lot_ of reporters."

Bruce is thinking more about damage control than his golf game. Typical. And - well it probably was a bit of culture shock. Tony finds it a little easier to forget exactly how much his privilege does to isolate him from the world. He makes a thoughtful noise, and drives. The ball curves up and out, slicing the air with cleanness and incomplication.

"You can take it?" Tony asks, after Bruce has sent his next shot out onto the driving green. Bruce looks good doing it - he fits his own clothes better than Tony's, and the newness of them gives a better appearance still. 

"I never know," Bruce admits. "But I'm less afraid of trying than I would have been."

Tony smiles, and then quickly cancels the expression. "Then just focus on your golf game, or you'll disappoint the pandas."

"No offense to your teaching methods, Tony, but I think the pandas are already disappointed." Bruce's next shot has distance, but no control. It hooks and bounces off a distance marker. He sets his next shot, and then hesitates. " _Are_ you really going to hold that grudge against Steve forever?"

So much for staying out of it. Tony gets this, though. Bruce is trying to place Tony's actions in context to each other. The truth is he hasn't actually bothered to set parameters for his theoretical forgiveness of Rogers yet.

"Yeah," Tony says, "For a short answer."

He sends his next ball well past the 150 yard mark, unabashedly channeling his frustration. 

"And for a long answer?" Bruce, in a way he knows he can get away with, presses further.

Tony would shut anyone else out, but he respects Bruce. He likes him enough that he thinks he's losing perspective a little, of how he lets himself be seen. How deep was he going to let Banner, just because he was smart and good looking and maybe needed Tony more than Tony actually needed him? Or maybe it was just as much. His answer turns sharper for the realization that he's deeper down this rabbit hole than he'd ever intended. 

Tony might be in love again.

"I'll be satisfied when the world thinks he's as backwards and wrong as he _actually is_ , and then I'll have 'Steve Rogers is a giant ass' engraved on my tombstone," Tony explains, and finds himself unable to stop. "When people realize that there are smarter ways to fight for a cause than to throw yourself into a meat shredder because _Captain America_ tells you that's what you _should_ do."

Tony watches his next shot instead of Bruce's expression. 

Coulson's belief may have brought them all together functionally as a unit, but without him, the team didn't have a heart. Tony wasn't even sure he _liked_ the guy, but somehow it was still a loss he felt most acutely. They _weren't_ soldiers, it was utterly unfair to have to die without question as soldiers did. Even Fury understood how this worked, but Steve Fucking Rogers, super tactician, didn't have any clue how to get his head out of the clouds, glorifying a soldiers death. 

Dead they were useless. Alive they could fight. It's why they weren't 'soldiers' or 'stoppers' or 'die tryings', but _Avengers_.

Bruce doesn't have a response right away, but he will in time. It's alright that way. Tony's blown his anger, he's ready to focus. 

Which means when Thor breaks a club approximately five seconds later, erupting in extreme mirth, it breaks the tension as well.

"By Magni, we have not the like of this on Asgard! I like this game!"

Tony finds it funnier still because Thor's using borrowed clubs. He's not only missing the point, but missing the ball, and Tony laughs in spite of himself.

"We got him all the way back from Asgard for this?" Bruce asks, in a quietly rhetorical tone behind Tony. 

"Buck up, Banner," Tony tells him, without looking away from the spectacle. Thor's picked up another club, while Rogers and Fury try in vain to finish explaining the finer points of a finesse based game to an Asgardian thats' more excited than if he'd been given his first puppy. "He's worse than you."

"Thanks?" Bruce asks behind him, and Tony grins reassuringly back at him to show he hadn't meant anything by it. Bruce had gotten monumentally better in the short time they'd had. He was passable, which very few people would understand as amazing. Tony, however, had seen his first round. 

They had already made headway and Bruce looked better for it. Maybe not whole or confident quite yet, but he could stand next to the rest of the team and not feel weighed down with inferiority. It was as big a step as his golf game and as likely to go unremarked, but _Tony_ knows. 

"You'll do fine. Let's go play buddies for the press and then all we have to think about is playing, right?" At least with Thor taking most of the media attention with his antics, it'll take some of the pressure off Bruce. It must get worse with all those eyes staring at you and _expecting_ , which is why Tony does his best to forget how dangerous Bruce could get and how quickly. That and Banner's intellect which meant the guy deserved some respect. Even if his work hadn't turned out ideally, there was still a lot of potential in the Hulk, too, if the concept could be carefully approached.

They slide their clubs back into Tony's golf bag and Tony leaves it there when a worried looking shield agent - likely the impromptu event organizer - trots up to hurry them over for press pictures. Tony recognizes the man.

"Hey, look who it is," Tony tells him. "I took the liberty of uploading my highest score into your database. Having any luck getting past it?"

The agent turns a strange color as Tony slings an arm around his shoulders and laughs companionably. "If you don't want to get stuck with the crap jobs like nerd-herding the team playboy-scientists, stop playing Galaga on company time. Free advice."

Bruce is laughing behind them as they head for the rest of the gathered team.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony only ruins like two photos by making Steve uncomfortable. He even manages to keep himself from ruining the guy's apple pie world view by touching only where it's appropriate. That's easier said than done - first, Bruce is wound up like a clock spring and Tony has to be careful for the sake of keeping their names a little cleaner in the press, but what he wants to do is pull the man into his arms and distract him. Second, Tony would pay a significant portion of his salary to have Steve Rogers reacting to the less-than-straight nature of most of the rest of the team on camera. But it's not just his and Rogers' reputations on the line, and so Tony reigns in the instinct to pull himself on Rogers' shoulder and make inappropriate suggestions in his ear. 

Besides, the guy deserves some recognition for the fact that he seems to have figured out clothing from this century. His only grandfatherly concession is a ridiculous plaid hat which no one remarks on out of kindness or (in Tony's case at least) amusement.

Tony pulls Barton aside - Barton appears to be allergic to any color but black, but at least he's found something in his wardrobe with sleeves. 

"So who's responsible for dressing grandpa?" Tony asks Barton's sunglasses. Tony hasn't seen him with them off since the Chitauri attack. Must be a lot of thinking going on back there. Either that or Barton feels safer behind the barrier. There's a lot of blame trying to rest on his shoulders, so maybe a mix of both.

"Oh you should have seen him," Barton answers, one side of his mouth tipping upward in a smile. His arms are crossed, but he directs his attention toward Natasha. "We talked him into more modern clothing, but he couldn't believe no one wore plaid on the golf course anymore."

"I figured it would be a pattern horror show," Tony laughs.

"'Tasha's got a picture on her cell phone," Barton reveals, tantalizing and unrevealing as a sphinx. He's good at that, and Tony likes that there's more depth to Barton's thoughts than one would guess on first glimpse of those impressive biceps of his. Which you _would_ notice, of course, because long sleeves were against his religion.

"What do you think it'll take to get her to e-mail it to me?" Tony asks. Barton shakes his head - Romanov does like her secrets. Almost as much as Tony likes a challenge. 

"You really have it in for Steve?" Barton asks, looking over at the group. The rest of them are talking shop, trying to explain to Thor what the goal of the game was. Tony doesn't read any judgment in Barton's tone, and that's a little surprising.

"I don't like heroes," Tony answers flatly. He's not under any obligation to give Barton the truth. To be honest, he's had enough people try to get their hooks in and start to figure him out lately. People who knew you too well made things more complicated, and unlike Bruce, Barton had other people. Shallowly, Tony allows that the relationship between him and Barton is fundamentally different in several key ways than the one he has with Bruce. He changes the subject. "So what's your handicap, Hawk?"

Barton eyes him, but doesn't push further, sensing he'll hit a wall - maybe with some kind of sonar. "Three strokes."

"Shitty handjob," Tony laughs, unable to keep himself from taking advantage of _that_ setup.

"Tell me about it," Barton actually laughs. "I could win with six, I think."

"Well go easy on us Tiger, alright?" 

Barton doesn't promise anything.

The first hole gives a pretty clear indication of what the rest of the game will be like, and the press is already getting their money's worth. Barton wows with an eagle to open, and by crushing their hopes for any chance of winning, makes the competition strictly friendly between the rest of the team. It's a masterful move to unite the team, and Tony doesn't miss the significance.

He and Bruce squeak in at par, Tony missing his first putt because Thor comes out of the rough at an opportune moment with two giant handfuls of golf balls and looks so absolutely ridiculous that Tony can't help laughing when Romanov sighs, exasperated.

"So, babysitting an Asgardian - " Tony leans over to ask her, sotto voce, while they wait for Rogers to putt. "Better or worse than me?"

Romanov doesn't dignify that with an answer, just a cool turn of her head and a dismissive slope of one shoulder. Not unexpected. Her golf game isn't bad, either - she plays like one of the boys, albeit a more professional one. Tony can see that, her wanting to prove herself. She doesn't _have_ to, of course. There's no question that she has a place, a part, and a value in the team.

Even if she has to feel like the only sane one at moments like this, when Thor can't be convinced that the point of any game could be to not hit the ball as hard as possible, and the only help the rest of them are being is to not openly encourage him.

Tony decides it's probably better for the team not to start. Thor's doing a great job of keeping the press attention. He also appears to be destroying a set of clubs that belong to Rogers. Rogers is keeping remarkably calm about it - it must not be an antique set.

At the second hole, when they've convinced Thor to move on, Tony digs out a cigar and is polite enough to ask if Romanov minds, even if he intends to smoke it anyway.

Her facade finally breaks - forgiveness. "Only if you don't have one for me," she says, all challenge and just enough flirt. Tony could love her a little, if he had a worse memory. He shrugs, and hands one over before offering them around since that seems like the best idea.

Barton initially declines, then changes his mind when he sees Natasha spitting the cigar cap crudely on the grass. He passes Thor over when his offer is met with an uncomprehending expression. "That's okay Thunder, it's bad for you anyway. Bruce?"

"I don't think I have enough hands to smoke and golf," Bruce laments. Tony's got him trained pretty well to accept them now.

"There's - clips, here on the golf bag, see?" Just clip it on when you're making a shot. Don't worry about grabbing the wrong cigar again afterwards, I don't have cooties." Tony doesn't point out that even if he did, Bruce would _probably_ have them by now.

They smoke quietly, companionably, with the exclusion of Steve whom Tony gave the honors of being an example to children everywhere by not offering him a cigar in the first place.

Clint lands a hole in one shot on the third hole, clearly showing off.

"Okay, when you're done humiliating us, Barton, I think it's a new team rule that winner buys drinks afterwards," Tony tells him frankly. "Because we're all going to need something to nurse our prides back to life."

"Tony, isn't your policy 'if you got it, flaunt it'?" Barton asks him, bemused.

"You're not off the hook," Tony tells him, and makes his shot. It wakes his competitive spirit a little, when he comes in under par, but he doesn't let it run away from him. Second place will be fine, and still safely in the free drinks range.


	3. Chapter 3

It's natural, that as the game progresses, Tony's the one most of the team is returning to between shots. He's an expert at having a good time, at keeping talk going. He's had practice at manipulating his own feelings into something that's agreeable to a whole crowd. He's the one by the golf cart making jokes and laughing like he's forgotten he whole issue, and Rogers is the one getting tenser and deeper inside himself. 

His game is all over the place, and every time he almost launches a golf ball into the stratosphere, Tony feels it as a vindictively marked tally point. Because the laughter and ease of the rest of the team is pissing Steve off. Because, outwardly at least, Tony's in a great place and Rogers is ripping himself apart. Every time Rogers misses a shot, it's getting worse. Good.

Let Rogers suffer a mile in those shoes, or whatever trite saying was applicable. Maybe he could find the real world again.

Tony knows he shouldn't like this, shouldn't get smoother and more relaxed every time he sees Rogers staring moodily at the group that his attitude excludes him from, but he does. It's satisfying, so Tony keeps it up. Maybe Rogers would blow a gasket or have a heart attack, he was pushing a hundred after all.

It's not until the eighteenth hole that things really fall apart. Tony's made a pretty good distraction, and obviously no one's winning this game but Barton (shitty handjob handicap or no), Thor's broken an entire bag of golf clubs and considers himself a winner by that virtue and no one contradicts him. Tony, however, has finessed himself up into second place, and Rogers is lingering right down there on the bottom, helpless to play less erratically.

No Stark has ever believed in a gracious victory, so when Rogers drives his ball into the rough at Tony's feet, he tucks his hands behind his back and looks blissfully at Rogers, refusing to move so the man can take a shot. 

Rogers' mouth turns into this determined line that carves his perfect superhero face into a perfect expression of upset, and Tony just looks at him as if utterly ignorant of what Rogers could _possibly_ want from him. 

"Mr. Stark," Rogers says, with a surprising amount of chill, "I can't play with you-"

"Can't play without me either," Tony cuts him off, speaking quickly to scatter his thoughts. "No surprise really. You've been on ice so long you're like a desperate Disney ploy to make money. Right at home with all those princesses on skates, so no one can really expect you to-"

_He_ doesn't expect Rogers to hit him, not for _this_ anyway, because Tony's just running his mouth like he always does, without even bothering to be especially nasty about it. He guesses maybe Rogers has a breaking point after all, and wow - it's as much a surprise that there's actually a regular human capable of hitting someone without thinking under there as it is how much it _really fucking hurts_.

Rogers must have held back a little at least, because it sends Tony reeling and holding his face, leaves him thinking he probably should check for missing teeth the next time he passes a mirror, and it splits his lip, but it hadn't split his _skull_.

Tony Stark's world narrows in focus to the sheltering cup of his hands for a minute, to the sweet blood taste in his mouth and how he can feel his face getting hot where damaged capillaries are spreading blood in what will be a tremendous bruise. He hears the uproar from the press, the cameras going off, and he thinks enough around all the adrenaline going through his system to straighten up and pull his hands away from his face so that they can get a real picture of him leering at Rogers.

Rogers looks shocked, lost. He looks at his own hand like he can't believe he's attached to it. At least this time the hurt he'd dealt Tony was the sort Tony had figured out how to heal from. He was an expert at it, in fact. Rogers finally looks up.

"I'm sorry, I don't-" he starts to say, but Tony has absolutely no desire to hear it, and something distracts Rogers from finishing. A hand touches the small of Tony's back, questioning, and only then does he begin to regret what he'd just done. He knows, without looking, that it's Bruce.

"I'm okay," he says, not that it's the major worry when your boyfriend is the Hulk. When he turns, Bruce's eyes aren't green, they're just worried and sorry,and Tony feels more like shit for that than his bruised face, because he should have thought about Bruce _before_ goading Captain Spangles into his best Punch and Judy impression.

"You look-" Bruce says, and he makes a face, reaching up to touch Tony's mouth like he can't believe the injury. "Tony, I'm not sure there are really words for how you look."

"I'll see on the front page tomorrow, I'm sure," Tony answers, and he tosses a look at Rogers as he and Bruce excuse themselves from the green. He can't read the expression that answers. Tony finds he really doesn't care how the game ends, anyway.

When they're inside, Bruce looks at his face again and sighs.

"Sit," he orders,and Tony arches his eyebrows. He starts to put on his best grin, but it hurts his mouth too much, so instead he sits down obediently because he keeps hoping Bruce will notice how much Tony likes taking orders.

"Boss me around," Tony purrs up at him, with Banner's blunt, gentle fingers under Tony's chin to tilt his face up into the good light. "I love it."

"Tony," Bruce, at least, blushes. Likely, he already knows. "You're lucky he didn't punch you in _half_." 

"Rogers? Doesn't have it in him-"

" _I'm_ lucky he didn't, either-"

"Though it does turn out he's human after all, and he throws a mean sucker punch-"

"With all those _people_ out there, Tony, and you're going to-"

"And I thought he was the moral equivalent of Mother Teresa."

"Risk yourself?" Bruce concludes. He's gotten good at talking right over Tony, when that needs to happen. He's looking meaningfully at Tony, who - yes, he already _knows_ it was stupid. He knows that he wants to keep Bruce, and that - beyond being a terrifying thought for Tony Stark - meant he was going to have to stop behaving himself like he had literally everything to lose and didn't care one bit because he had enough money to buy it all back again. It was _beyond_ stupid. Tony pulls his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, stalling, because he actually for once doesn't want to say something he'll regret. He tastes blood again, and realizes it's running down his chin.

"I know," is what he finally says, and he takes Bruce's hands in his own, trying to convey how much of an idiot he knows that he is capable of being. Bruce, miraculously, gets it. Tony is coming to redefine his understanding of the word 'miraculous' in Bruce's case, anyway. 

Shaking his head, Bruce pulls his hands away to work on Tony's face. He digs up a first aid kit from somewhere, and what the treatment amounts to is one of those instant cold packs in a cloth, which he shoves hard against Tony's mouth where his lip is split and-

"Ow," Tony says into the cloth, because it stings like a bitch, "Are you sure you're really a doctor?"

"Pressure will stop the bleeding," Bruce says, rolling his eyes and pushing more firmly - maybe so Tony will shut up.

While they sit, the others slowly filter in with averted eyes. Thor is absent, but Tony had heard something about him meeting up with an old friend after the game, so maybe he was off wooing Jane Foster. Good for him.

Rogers comes in last. He doesn't have time to make a further ass of himself, because as soon as he's moved further into the locker room the door slams open again and Director Fury fills the doorway with a pissed off swirl of angry black leather with hell in his eye. The atmosphere becomes oppressive.

Fury doesn't even have to say anything before the uninvolved team members slink to the back. Bruce lifts Tony's hand to hold his own ice pack before leaving him to face the music with only the dubious company of Steve Rogers. If the room was quiet before, it's silent now. It's an atmosphere Tony hasn't felt since he'd come home with a less than stellar report card in grade school, and if Fury has a superpower, that look on his face is probably part of it.

"What in the _hell_ was that?" Fury demands, and resounding silence answers. Fury tilts his head down, crosses his arms over his chest, and stares a hole in Tony that's equal parts anger and disappointment, before he transfers the look to Rogers. 

All Tony can do is shift and answer, "Steve hit me," like he was six or something, and that was actually even what Fury was asking. 

That isn't what Fury was asking, and it doesn't throw him off of what he _was_ , either. "You couldn't set aside your differences for _one_ game? Do you even want this to work?"

That's not fair, and that - ultimately - is what makes Tony angry. He doesn't have to be here at this media circus, he doesn't have to lend his name to the government's pet superhero project.

"When you are out there representing the defense force of this country - this _world_ against whatever unknown forces that the average human being cannot even begin to understand, I expect you all to act like a _team_." Fury says,stressing the last word, and Tony discovers that he has had more than enough fighting for one day. 

If he didn't want this to work, somehow, deep down, he wouldn't still _be_ here. He had his own thing, and as whopping a pain in the ass as being Iron Man was, it was actually working out pretty well for Tony. He didn't need the Avengers - it was just another project that needed help. It was something that he wanted to see work, but it wasn't like Iron Man where he could just tweak the mechanisms until they stopped chaffing him and pinching his skin.

He had to let go of trying to be in control.

Tony keeps the compress against his mouth as a reminder to keep it shut, and he risks a glance at Rogers. He looks like he has his own thoughts on the subject. So, points for the patriotism robot, he might actually be able to think on his own. It's still not enough to make either of them willing to apologize. 

Fury sighs, and his voice changes when he speaks again - into something that's soft and laden with guilt inducing tiredness, the sort of tone that everyone's parents are so good at.

"I know you all feel like you've taken something away from the team already," Fury begins, and suddenly no eyes are meeting his. And okay, those weren't the exact bent of Tony's thoughts, but it collects them together into as ort of shame, because it was _true_ only Tony hadn't gotten around to the point where he realized it yet.

"But I believe - and you're all here because _you_ believe that you have even more to _offer_ it." Fury lets his gaze linger on each member of the team in a silent command to think things over - or at least not fuck it up any worse, and then he's gone, probably to try and smooth things over with the press. The pressure in the room disperses. People begin to move and breathe again and Tony realize his mouth has gone insensate where it's pressed against the ice pack, and he pulls it away.

It's stopped bleeding, at least. Tony gets changed, and he's in the middle of carefully washing his face when Rogers finally corners him. 

Tony turns around to find him looking sober and serious and the eyes of the whole team are on Tony in a way that makes him feel pinned down like a dead insect. It's worse this way, a thousand times worse. It brings up every bad instinct he has, makes Tony want to defend himself by getting sharp again. Tony realizes, though, that he has made it so it has to be this way. That as much as he hates this position, he's the one who - as usual - has hammered himself into it.

Rogers takes a slow breath.

"If you're about to apologize again," Tony starts, but his own voice doesn't sound angry anymore. "Don't."

"Tony," Rogers begins a plea for reasonability.

"There might have been a time when you owed me one, but it's gone. It passed by before you even tried. I don' t know what exactly I want from you, but it's not for you to be sorry." Tony stands up straight, with his tailored suit almost as effective a protection as his armor. "What I want is for you to understand why I was upset. I don't know if that's even in your constitution without somehow breaking your worldview - massively outdated, by the way - in a way I'm not sure I'd like even if you did it."

Then Tony shoves his hand out, as if his palm were a knife and it's the only weapon he had, because it's probably the only way to get Rogers to shut up. If Tony has to hear anymore apologies today, he's going to go back to Stark Tower and invent something with enough destructive force to blow his own head off his shoulders. 

Rogers looks taken aback, like Tony's thrown him for another loop today, but he finally reaches out to take hold of Tony's hand. He looks a little bit like he's waiting for the trap door to close after him, and then when it doesn't, he refuses to let go so that he's sure he can keep hold of Tony's attention. 

"Tony you can either keep ripping the hole open again and again so that we _can't_ forget," Steve says, with no trace of levity. It's more understanding than he's ever displayed, and Tony is caught unprepared. "Or you can work with us to be sure that it _won't_ \- because we'll be working together instead of against each other, like Coulson wanted."

The son of a bitch _could_ find a point with a flashlight and a map glued to his forehead after all, it turned out. Tony didn't like it any better, but at least if Rogers _saw_ why Tony was upset, it meant his eyes were finally, miraculously open. There's only one person with big enough feet to kick sense into Steve, and Tony spares a look of mock betrayal toward Bruce - who suddenly, guiltily, but with a nervous smile that suggested he knew everything was probably still okay - has to look anywhere else. Tony looks back at Steve who is still waiting, looking less certain of himself as Tony's silence wore on. 

Good.

"We're not soldiers," Tony tells him, reiterating a point they'd never had a chance to truly discuss with the world ending around them. "We're heroes. And that means everyone - _every_ one - walks away at the end."

Steve thinks about it - really takes it seriously, because with so many other things that have chanced, maybe the idea of what a hero should do or be should too. Finally, he nods. 

"Apology accepted, " Tony says, ready to be done with this. Briskly, he moves on, doesn't let the team stare or dwell on his fold. Tony's not totally sold on it yet - but he'll let Rogers have a chance. "Barton, you owe us all drinks. You have a bar you like or do we all climb trees and throw fruity cocktails at each other?"

In the car, Bruce touches Tony's shoulder to get his attention. Tony can _sense_ the apology coming, so he starts talking - before he looks. "Do you think he'd have ever figured it out on his own?"

"Maybe," Bruce says, allowing his apology to be forestalled. "But not before the next big threat, or, you know, another loss." 

Tony doesn't like to think he would have let it go on that long but he doesn't _know_ that he wouldn't have. Older injuries could heal badly, really.

"Are you cool to drink?" Tony asks suddenly, looking at Bruce over his sunglasses.

"Are you kidding? I'll be designated driver. I'm counting on you to get Captain America drunk. For science."

Challenge accepted.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is way overdue and I'm sorry about that. I've had the beginning and the end for a while now, and it just hasn't wanted to resolve itself together.  
> Also this obviously isn't just golf and fluff, it kind of developed a plot about something I wanted to work through, and that was Tony vs. Steve just magically becoming bros by the end of the movie.  
> I'm not sure if Tony/Steve will ever be my thing but hey, I am open to recs for fic of that pairing and maybe someday I'll write it. 
> 
> An 'Eagle' is when a player comes in 2 strokes under par on a hole, as opposed to a double eagle or albatross - that's three strokes under par.
> 
>  
> 
> Title from an old golf joke:  
> Golf is also a game of math. 
> 
> This formula will help your game, D=nxP2.
> 
> This formula illustrates the odds of hitting a duffed shot increase by the square of the number of people watching.


End file.
